I've been working on my sketch for a couple of hours. I should set it aside and buy another coffee, but I feel that I've been on a roll, and I don't want to interrupt the process.

I need to rest my eyes occasionally, or they'd start watering. Most times that I do, I see the two young women baristas talking to each other and glancing in my direction. They're probably griping that I'm taking up space without buying anything. I should get that coffee, but I'm not quite ready to take a break.

A flash of light catches my eye, making me look up from my creation's cleavage, which I've been shading with a soft pencil. I look up to see the blonde barista standing before my table, a large disposable coffee cup in her hand.

"Hey," she says. The name tag pinned to her brown coveralls says Dylan. "Mind if I interrupt?"

I sighed. "Yeah, I'm sorry," I say. "I guess I need to pay my rent."

The blonde girl frowns for a second. "Oh, no!" she says, understanding dawning. "In fact... on me." She holds out the styrofoam container.

I set my pencil down and take the coffee from her. "Uh, thanks?"

She flashes me a quick grin. Her eyes are a deep blue, and they sparkle. "Yeah," she says. "Cyndy and I wanted to see if you'd let us see what you're working on. We drew straws. You don't have to, drawings are personal, I know, but you look so serious, we figured we wanted to ask."

"Oh, yeah, of course," I say. "You'd be welcome." I turn the sketch pad around, offering it to her.

She takes it carefully, and I use the opportunity to study her. Her sapphire eyes seem especially intense in her pale skin. Even paler cream-to-white hair cascades down to the base of her back. Her face is diamond shaped, with a sharply-pointed chin. There's a blue opal stud in her right nostril. A floral tattoo in brilliant colors swirls up her left arm, disappearing under her short-sleeved black tee.

"Whoa, this is amazing," she says. Her eyebrows dip sharply into a frown. "Her face. Is that me?"

"What?" I ask, my eyes flicking to the pad. She's holding it facing herself, but I don't need to see it. My glance was automatic. The face I've created is clear in my mind's eye. "Oh, no, it isn't. You're right, it does look a little like you, but I'd already sketched her head when I arrived. It isn't you. Sorry."

"Huh," she says.. "Who is it?"

"Titania," I replied.

"I meant the face," she says. "Who's the model?"

"Oh, no one's in particular," I reply. "I've drawn a lot of faces. She's just how I picture Titania."

The girl grins. "Thanks. It's not every day I find I look like a faerie queen."

I find that I'm glad that she knows who Titania is.

She glances around the coffee shop. The other barista - Cyndy, I assume - is giving a customer his order. "Do you mind if I call my friend over to see?" she asks me.

"Sure," I say.

The girl waves at her co-worker. "Hey, Cyn, come here a second."

Cyndy, a short redhead, leaves the counter and skips over to us. She has a few freckles on the bridge of her button nose, and hazel eyes. "Oh, wow," she says, when the taller girl shows her my sketch. "That's awesome."

The door opens. Cyndy glances around, then looks back to me apologetically. "Gotta get back. Don't be too long, Dill."

"Okay," says the blonde. She turns back to me as her friend returns to the counter. "So, are you a professional?" she asks.

"Just a student," I reply. "I sell some work online, but it isn't enough to pay my rent."

"What does pay your rent?" she asks.

"Much the same as you," I reply. "I tend bar. O'Neill's."

"I know it," she said. "Maybe I'll see you there sometime." She starts to hand the drawing pad back to me, then stops herself. "Is there anything else here I could see?"

I think about that for a second before agreeing. "Sure," I say, not sure how she'll react to other drawings. There are several nudes from my art class. Women and men, both. Those are in black pencil.

My personal favorite drawing is also in the sketch pad, in colored pencil. It is of a dark-skinned girl lying on her belly, nipples hidden by her arm, but her full breasts otherwise sensuously on display, face turned up with an inviting, mischievous grin. I'm more proud of capturing the grin than the curves of her shoulders and lower back.

As if on cue, the girl's eyes widen. "This one doesn't look like a class project." She turns the pad around.

I shake my head. "No, that was done for her," I say, nodding towards the girl in the drawing. "She's an old friend of mine. I scanned it and turned it into a print for her. That's one I've never tried to sell. I'll be disappointed when I switch to a new sketch pad."

"I see why," the girl says. Then she opens the pad to Titania and hands it back to me. "Thank you for letting me see these. You're very good."

"You have some interesting art of your own," I say, nodding towards her left arm. "That looks like a masterwork."

The girl colors slightly. "Yeah," she said. "I think so too. I can't take credit for it, though, all I did was select the flowers."

"What are they?" I ask, curious.

She moves around the table so that I can see the design on her arm clearly. "This is wolfsbane," she says, indicating a cluster of purple, bell-like flowers. "Oleander." These are bright pink, delicate blooms with five petals. "Laburnum, fritillary." The first is a grouping of intense yellow flowers; the second a deep, mottled pink.

"Foxglove," she says, her right hand waving close to the collection of purple flowers that vanish up into her sleeve.

Without thought, I extend a finger to push her sleeve up her arm so that I can see the entire plant.

Then I realize that I'm touching the girl without her permission. Sliding my finger across smooth skin. "Oh, God," I say, snatching my hand away. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she replies. The color in her face has deepened. "I should get back to work."

"Okay," I say, watching her leave. Then I pick up the soft pencil and return to Titania's boobs.


My shift at O'Neill's today is seven to two. I had Titania more or less where I wanted her when I left the coffee shop. I headed to my apartment, took a nap, and showered. Now I'm walking to the bar, which is just around the corner.

When I see a blonde girl sitting at the bar, I do a double-take.

"Hey, Dylan," I say. "You found me."

"You know my name!" she says. "And you even remembered it!"

I make a circle over my chest with my finger. "You were wearing a name tag," I say.

She glances down at the matching location at her breast. She isn't wearing the tee shirt and coveralls now. She's wearing a navy blue camisole top, and the place where her name tag was earlier is the junction of a narrow strap with a neckline just low enough to hint at the curve of a small breast. "Oh, right," she says. "And you're Austin."

"I am," I agree. "Credit card receipt?"

"Mmhmm," she says. "I cheated."

"What are you drinking?"

"What's good, and not too much alcohol?" Dylan asks.

"Mimosa?" I suggest. "Americano? That's pretty good."

"I'll try it," she says, taking her wallet from her purse.

I mix the drink, set it before her, then shake my head. "On me," I say. "You bought my coffee."

A brief smile flashes across her face. "Thanks," she says. She lifts the glass, gives me a small salute, then tastes the cocktail. Her sapphire eyes glow appreciatively. "Oh, that is nice."

"Glad you like it," I say. "You said you'd find me, but I didn't think..." I almost say "I didn't think you would," but I caught myself. "I didn't think you'd do it so soon."

"You seemed disturbed earlier," she says. "I wanted to tell you that it was okay. So I called the bar to ask when you were working."

"You didn't seem upset," I reply, "but touching the serving staff is verboten. If anyone did that here, they'd be having a private chat with the bouncers. Well, the female serving staff. I doubt they'd give a shit if it was me."

The smile appears again. "Yeah, maybe it's not a great idea, but you were looking at my ink. If you'd asked, I'd have said okay." The smile turns roguish as she adds, , "Hell, if you'd asked, I'd have taken my shirt off so that you could see the whole piece."

"That would have entertained the patrons," I say, with a grin.

She shrugs, eyes still alight with amusement. "But you can see it all now," she says, "so the opportunity isn't lost, and I don't even have to take my top off."

"True," I say. I stare at her shoulder for a moment. "I figured out what the common theme between the flowers was." I point to the purple flower and dark berry woven in among the leaves. "I'm going to guess that that's deadly nightshade."

"Atropa belladonna," Dylan agrees. "Got it."

"You're an interesting girl," I say. "Loveliest tattoo I've ever seen, I think, and all of the flowers are deadly toxins."

"Please don't make a joke about how it means I'm looking to keep people at arm's length," Dylan says. "I will be very disappointed in you, and may have to dust your underwear with poison ivy."

"You have a very twisted mind," I reply. "But I wouldn't dream of making any such comment. If only because I hadn't thought of it."

One of the waitresses approaches the bar. I leave for a few minutes to prepare the drinks she needs. When I return to Dylan, her drink is almost gone.

"Another?" I ask.

"Sure," she says. "Just one. I'll be leaving soon."

I feel a tug of disappointment. I'm enjoying speaking to her. But she has a life to live, and the bar will be too busy soon for me to be able to spend much time talking. I mix her drink, and present it to her. This time I run her credit card.

"Anything exciting planned?" I ask.

"Mmhm," she says. "Going out with a couple of girlfriends. I'm opening tomorrow, though, so my night will probably end before yours."

"Thanks for taking the time to stop by," I say. After a beat, I add, "Would you like to get together outside of work sometime?"

"What do you have in mind?" Dylan asks.

"I hadn't really thought that far ahead," I admit. "We could get coffee at some place other than your café, or drinks, if it's not my bar. We could decide then if we have any interests in common. Unless... would you like me to paint your portrait?"

She narrows her eyes. "How much would that cost?"

"Nothing," I say, with a shake of my head. "I wouldn't offer you something and ask you to pay for it. But I would like to ask if in return I can use your likeness on other projects. I have an idea for another faerie queen that you'd be perfect for. You don't have to say yes, I'll paint you anyway, but it would be cool."

"Hmm." Dylan's still frowning. "Nude portrait? Like your friend?"

"That's up to you," I say. "I have an idea for a pose that would focus on your ink, which would definitely be risqué. But it doesn't have to be."

"Okay," she says. "Yeah. I'm not sure about the risqué part. Maybe I'll decide when you tell me what you have in mind."

"Okay," I say. "Bring a selection of clothes if you aren't sure. Tops, anyway. What you're wearing now would be perfect for what I have in mind."

"Huh, it would?" she asks. She took a large sip of her drink. "Okay, when?"

We agree on the following Monday, which is her first day off, and my second. I take a business card from my wallet. It has links to my online store and my DeviantArt page. I don't use many cards, since almost all of my few sales are online, but they're useful to have. I scrawl my address and phone number on the back and hand it to her.


Dylan shows up at my apartment at ten a.m. precisely. I offer her substandard coffee - at least compared to the gourmet brew at the café - hot tea or a soft drink. Somewhat to my surprise she chooses hot tea, so I make two cups.

"So describe this pose you're considering," she says, "so that I can decide."

I set her tea down on the coffee table and motion her to a chair. "What I'm thinking is to have you looking down at your tattoo, with your right hand lowering your shoulder strap over your arm so that the ink on your shoulder is unobstructed. The top will slip down. How far is up to you."

"You want to paint my flat chest?" Dylan says, her tone challenging.

"I'd like to show your left breast," I say. "But I could make a PG version, too."

"Huh," she says.

"I'll take a photo with my phone. You can see how it will look, and I'll use the photo to finish up once we're done today."

"If you're going to take a photo, why do I need to be here at all?" she asks.

"If you're here I can get a better sense of you as a living, breathing person," I reply. "Once I've captured your expression and position, I can use the photo to remind me."

"It sounds a little mystical to me," Dylan says. "Was the drawing of your friend live?"

"I couldn't have gotten her expression right from a photo," I said. "There's something about being there that lets me share the experience."

She shrugs. "I'll try it."

I ask Dylan to try the pose, pulling down her shoulder strap while I watch critically. I reposition the chair a couple of times so that I have the view that I want from my desk. I suggest that she lowers the strap another inch. The cami top peels further away from her left breast, exposing her dark nipple. She isn't wearing a bra.

Dylan doesn't seem uncomfortable with my seeing her like this. I snap a couple of photos with my phone, including one in 3D.

I show her how the pose looks, holding my fingers over the screen to indicate where the boundaries of the painting will be. Dylan's eyebrow rises. It seems she's pleased with the effect.

"And I have to say, in my semi-professional opinion," I say, "that you're not flat-chested."

She grins quickly, taking my words as a compliment, but objects. "Yes, I am."

I shake my head. "Your breast isn't huge, but it's very well shaped. The shadows are going to be perfect."

"You really think so?" She sounds a little dubious.

"Speaking as a guy rather than a semi-professional," I say, "it's fucking hot."

Dylan huffs out a laugh.

"You could try making your nipple harder," I say. "It would make the view a little sexier."

"Why don't you do that?" she asks, with a sparkle in her eyes. "For efficiency."

I laugh. "Okay," I say. I extend my left hand, not too quickly, in case the suggestion was a joke, and I missed the point. When she doesn't stop me, I cup her breast. "And to think, last week I was feeling guilty about touching your arm."

"I don't think I'd want you to do this at the café," Dylan says, as I squeeze.

Taking her nipple between finger and thumb, I pinch it lightly. I can feel it swelling. "I don't know how you can say you're flat-chested," I say.

"Well, not completely," she says.

I lick my thumb. Lightly I press it to the center of her nipple, then circle it around. Dylan twitches slightly. Her eyes seem darker than they were.

"I should just bring you an ice cube," I say, "but this is more fun."

"It is," she agrees. She licks her lips.

I lift the fabric of her cami so that it's just below her nipple, rather than leaving her breast completely exposed. Then I step back and take a couple more shots.

She nods. "That looks way sexier than I was expecting," she says when I show them to her.

"The painting will be sexier still," I say. Then I sit at my desk. I have a 4K monitor and digital drawing tablet hooked up to my notebook. I start to sketch on the tablet.

"Can I talk?" Dylan asks. "Do I have to stay perfectly still?"

"You can talk," I say. "Stay more or less where you are, unless it's uncomfortable, but you don't have to hold the pose exactly unless I ask you to."

"When you said paint," she says, "I thought you meant, you know, paint."

"I could, I guess," I say, "but I think you'll like the way this turns out." After a moment's consideration, I add, "I have an idea."

I had planned to pull up the photo on the notebook display, but while Dylan's here I don't really need it. I tweak the display settings so that the displays are duplicated rather than extended. Then I turn the notebook around so that she can see what I'm doing. There's only a rough outline so far, but she can see my intention.

"Oh, that's neat," Dylan says, as I get back to work.

"So what do you do when you're not baristing?" I ask.

"English," she says. "I want to write."

"Move your hand up a little," I say. Dylan's arm is starting to tire, and her fingers have dropped too low. I want them higher so that the strap is in view, but her wrist needs to be lower so that her nipple isn't hidden. When she has it where I want, I sketch her fingers and arm, then shade her breast, darkening her nipple.

Dylan looks over to the notebook display as I'm shading. "Are you enlarging it?"

"What?" I ask. "Your boob? No."

"Are you sure?" Dylan asks.

"I'm drawing what I see," I say.

"It feels weird to know you're studying my body so closely," Dylan says.

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable," I tell her.

"That's not it," she replies. "It feels..." She pauses for a moment, then says, "Do nude models get aroused?"

"I've seen guys get turned on," I say. "It doesn't happen often, but it happens. Students politely ignore it. Having a half dozen girls staring at your naked body... well, I can see why they would. I don't know about women. I guess they must, but it isn't as easy to tell."

"Huh," Dylan grunts. "I'll just say having your hand down my shirt again wouldn't be unwelcome right now."

"For me too," I say, with a sigh. "But I want to capture as much of you as I can before you get bored and lose your enthusiasm."

I finish the neckline of her top. Her right breast is mostly hidden behind her arm, but the slight swell at the junction with the right strap needs to be shown. Then the outer edge of her left arm takes shape. The tattoo will come later, since it's going to be its own small project, but I mark in the locations of the various flowers.

"I'm going to change the color of your top to a royal blue satin look," I say. "I want the focus to be on the tattoo and your elegance. A rich blue will contrast the first and complement the second."

"Elegance?" Dylan almost snorts. "Ell oh ell what?"

"Elegance, yeah," I say. I mean exactly that. The length of her neck, the thickness of her long, long hair, the intensity of her eyes, the perfect shape of her small breasts. "It's why I think you'd be a good Mab."

"Mab? She's the faerie queen?" Dylan asks. "Titania's enemy, right?"

"Depends on the mythology," I say. "Maybe more like frenemy. Her opposite number. She's grown into something very different from Shakespeare's Mab. She's the Queen of Air and Darkness, the Winter Queen. Sometimes the Queen of Air and Darkness is Titania's counterpart but she isn't called Mab. The monarch of the Unseelie Court. She's cold and cruel."

"You think I'm cold and cruel?" Dylan asks, amused.

"I think a girl who proudly wears aconite and belladonna can do cruel," I say. "But you noticed the resemblance my Titania has to you. The similarity would work."

Taking a critical look at how the drawing was progressing, I nod, pleased. "You can sit up," I say. "I'm going to touch this up a little while you're still here, so you can see it, but then I can do the rest from the photo."

"Is it okay for me to move, then?" Dylan asks, lifting the strap of her top back into place.

"Sure," I say.

She stretches, then comes to stand beside me, watching the 4K monitor intently as I soften the shadows on her face and breast. "Oh that's really... sexy," she says.

I chuckle. "It is," I say. I have captured her expression even better than I expected. Her face is half-profile to her left, eyes further to her left, focused on her bicep, her mien sultry. A bare suggestion of her tongue is visible between parted lips. The small opal stud in her nose is front and center, offsetting the tattoo to her left without detracting from it.

What is yet almost completely missing is the reason for her attention. Her arm holds only the vaguest outline of her ink. It's going to take great care to do that justice, but I intend to.

I am explaining that to Dylan, moving the digital pencil over the tablet to cause the cursor to flick around the monitor, when she takes the pencil, pries it from my fingers and sets it down.

She takes my hands, tugs me out of my chair, then steps backward to the wall, drawing me with her.

"This is what you need to be touching up," Dylan says, placing my hands on the front of her camisole.

"Yeah," I agree, closing my palms over her breasts.

There is no support sewn into the panel of fabric. Dylan's breasts are small and firm enough not to need a bra, but well enough defined to yield to my touch. Her nipples press into my palms.

Her intense blue eyes hold mine as I fondle. Her hands move to her shoulders, pull the straps over her arms and lets them drop. The thin fabric begins to slide downward, held in place only by being trapped between my fingers and her breasts.

I move my hands from Dylan's body, allowing her top to settle at her waist, revealing the slight swell of her breasts. Instead of returning my hands to her breasts, I move them to her waist, pushing the loose top out of the way, then lower my face, extending my tongue to circle her left breast.

"Oh yeah, do that," Dylan says. "Oh God, yeah, that's good."

Her hands rest on my shoulders as I part my lips around her nipple. I feel her squirm beneath my hands on her waist as I suck.

I move my head, stretching Dylan's breast by the nipple between my lips. Then I take in more of her. When I gently close my teeth on the rough, hard surface of her nipple, she gasps.

"Austin," Dylan murmurs. "You're really making me want to go to bed with you."

I tug on her nipple with my teeth, feeling her whole body shudder.

Fingers twine into my hair and pull my head back. I resist releasing her nipple and it stretches further before popping out from between my teeth.

"NNGH," Dylan grunts. Then, "Damn, Austin! You need to either stop now or finish taking off my clothes."

That's no choice at all, of course, and she knows it. I feel around the waistband of her skirt, finding the catch and unfastening the zipper.

"So you'd better have condoms," she says, releasing my hair.

"I do," I confirm, as I let her skirt fall to the floor, then take her collapsed top and lift it over her head.

I take a second to look at her. "God, you're beautiful," I say.

Dylan looks like she wants to argue, but she just croaks out, "Bedroom."

"Yeah," I say, taking her hand.


By the time we've reached the bedroom door, Dylan has kicked off her shoes. Inside the bedroom, she loses her hose and underwear before grabbing my tee shirt to yank it over my head. I think her enthusiasm is slowing down the process, but I'm not going to get in the way of her figuring out how to unfasten my belt buckle or take my jeans off.

I draw the line at letting her have the condom. I'm pretty sure I can take care of it more quickly by myself, and I don't want her eagerness to lead to it being damaged or imperfectly secured. She watches impatiently as I unroll it, then pushes me back onto the bed and climbs up after me.

Dylan doesn't wait for foreplay. She squats over me and begins to feed my length inside her. She slides down over me surprisingly easily. She must be really turned on. I don't move at all, figuring I might cause her discomfort if I push her into taking me in too fast, but in very little time I'm completely sheathed within her.

My hands run over Dylan's side, applying just a little downward pressure as my hips rock, pressing me against her body. She moves in counterpoint to me, panting. I move my hands to her chest, then play with her breasts, squeezing and kneading, pinching her hard nipples. When I pinch, I feel her sex tighten around me. Her eyes are dark with need as she begins to moan.

Lowering my right hand, I caress her sex. My fingers slide easily over her. I feel her clit beneath my middle finger. I press it more firmly and rub.

Dylan whimpers. Her eyes close and her sex tightens further me. I suddenly realize that I'm not going to be able to hold off my climax. She's gripping me too tightly and moving too quickly for me to maintain any control at all. Even as I sense the girl's excitement reaching a peak, I overload with my cock's acute stimulation, and begin to spurt into the condom.

I stroke Dylan's clit, sensing that she's near her own release, but my own climax has faded when she cries out. Her sex pulses wildly around me.

When she begins to calm, I am already starting to slip out of her. She doesn't seem to care. Her look is blissful, and she's making soft groans deep in her throat.

Grasping the condom, I ease myself out of her. When I move her off my body, she collapses to lie on the bed.

I dispose of the condom, then return to the bed.

"What the fuck was that?" I ask, my tone sounding surprised or awed, not annoyed.

"What was what?" Dylan asks, her eyes half open. "We had sex. It was good."

"It was," I agree. "It felt... urgent? Like we had to fuck before the end of the world."

The naked girl on the bed chuckles. It makes her breasts ripple. "Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away."

"I see," I say. I run a finger over her face. She turns to catch it between her lips and suckles it for a moment. Then she takes my hand in hers and uses her grip to draw herself close, rolling partway onto me.

"Kiss me," she instructs, and I oblige.

There's nothing tentative about our kiss. There's restrained passion. We've already had sex. I have never fucked a girl without first kissing her in the leadup to the event. It has always seemed a crucial part of seduction. Now that we've made love, there's no pressure for the kiss to be more than it needs to be, and it has become a way to share feelings.

"I feel like you really see me as sensual," she says. "That really excited me."

"That surprises me," I say. "Someone who looks as good as you do - you're looking good by choice. You know that you're attractive."

"I work on it, sure," she says. "The way you see me, though, that's more than I expected. The drawing tells me you think I'm hot..."

"I told you I think you're hot," I say.

Dylan ignores my interruption, and continues, "In a way that words can't." She kisses my lips again. "It made me really want you. Then you got your mouth on my boob, and I had to have you."

I moved my hands to her waist and lifted her, so that her breasts were by my chin. "Well, if that's what it takes," I murmur, and begin to lick her right nipple.

"Mmhh..." Dylan moans. "Oh, God, I'm not ready, but that feels so... mmhhh"

I move my left hand over her hip, and around to her sex. Stroking her pussy lips lightly, I circle her nipple with my tongue. Dylan's arms snake around the back of my neck, and hold me against her breast. When I part my lips, she presses her nipple between them, then her body moves slowly against mine as I start to suckle.

"That feels so good," she murmurs.

Dylan's sex is slick with arousal. I slip two fingers inside her, then curl my hand so that my palm grips her pussy. The ball of my thumb presses against the mound of her clit. She makes a soft sound in her throat, pressing herself to me.

I continue to suckle until she lifts her breast from my lips. Then she shifts until her left breast is against my mouth, and I begin to work on it with my lips and tongue. "Oh, yeah," she breathes. "Like that..."

Sucking her nipple deep into my mouth, I turn my face, stretching her breast. Dylan seemd to shudder, then her hips begin to rock, slowly, moving her sex against the grip of my left hand.

Her fingers dig into my hair and tear my face from her breast. She meets it with her own, her lips and tongue devouring mine. Her hips rock more vigorously against my hand, and she groans into the kiss.

"Mmph... mmph... mmph..." she breathes, our kiss steadily growing in passion.

Dylan begins to pant through her nose. Then she breaks the kiss as she begins to groan. I immediately drop my face to her left breast and suck the nipple into my mouth. When I lightly close my teeth on it, she cries out, "Oh, fuck," then bounces hard against my hand.

Moments later she crests. I feel the pulsing of her orgasm around my fingers. She moans softly as she comes, and her body keeps moving against my hand, but slowly now, extending her pleasure.

"Condom?" I hear the soft voice from above me. I don't think she's asking if I have another. I think she's asking if I'm ready to use one.

I am.

I roll away from her to grab a packet from the box, open it, and unroll the condom carefully but quickly.

Squatting between Dylan's legs, I start to lift her, to slide into her from a kneeling position.

She shakes her head. "I need to kiss you," she says.

"Okay," I agree, and reposition myself, lying down atop her, my cock sliding easily into her.

As soon as I'm pressed fully into her, Dylan's legs wrap around me, holding me against her, as her pelvis begins to rock.

We kiss deeply, passion slowly turning into an affectionate lust as we both groan with need. She comes against me. Her legs tighten around my thighs as I feel her sex quiver around me.

I feel the quaking when she comes again, sighing contentedly into the kiss as she presses her sex against my body.

Sharing her pleasure pushes me to the edge, and before long I groan, my lips still joined firmly to hers, as I spend myself into the condom.


I return from disposing of the condom to find Dylan lying on her side, watching me.

"My poor bed," I mutter. Sheets and blankets are scattered. There's only the fitted sheet remaining, with a naked girl lying on it.

Dylan laughs. "Your bed? What about my clothes? I only have the vaguest idea where I took them off."

I find the top sheet and throw it over her, then join her beneath it. "I think we can find them," I say, "though I'm in no hurry to look."

Dylan chuckles agreement and curls up against me as I drift off to sleep.

I awake to find Dylan pacing around my room, examining my stacks of paintings and drawings. I watch her for a while before speaking. "It's kinda erotic to see a nude girl going through all your stuff."

She starts and looks up guiltily. "I didn't think you'd mind," she says.

"I don't," I agree. "As I say, it's sexy. Is there anything you like?"

"Some of it is amazing," she says. "I haven't seen anything to compare with your drawing of your friend."

I shake my head. "It's the best thing I've done. I hope yours is as good. I think it might be better, but I won't know until it's finished."

"Did you sleep with her?" Dylan asks, then adds, before I reply, "Wait, that didn't come out right. I didn't mean to sound like a shrew. There's just... so much raw sex in that picture. I feel like you must have been really close."

"Ah, well," I said. "I've had a crush on Alex for years. I know it, she knows it, and I'm pretty sure her boyfriend knows it. I don't think he wanted me drawing her in the first place. If I could have fucked Alex, I'd have done it a long time ago. And probably we wouldn't still be friends. If you're seeing desire in the drawing, I'm sure it's just unrequited lust."

"I see," Dylan says. There's no judgement in her tone, only curiosity.

"If you're wondering if I try to have sex with models, I don't," I said. "I've never slept with one. Well, not until today. And I didn't invite you here to get you into bed."

"I think I'm hurt," Dylan says, playfully.

"Well, if I hadn't wanted to get to know you, I wouldn't have offered to paint your portrait," I say. "I wasn't expecting what happened, but I'm glad it did."

"So am I," Dylan says. She pads back to sit on the side of the bed. "When I saw the drawing of your friend - Alex?" I nod, and she continues, "I thought from the sensual power of the image that it was the big boobs that turned you on. I really didn't think you could do for me what you did for her."

"I told you," I say, "I think your boobs are very sexy. I don't know why you're hung up about them."

"I'm not," Dylan insists. "I just thought guys wouldn't like them much. I thought you wouldn't like them much, even after you said what you did. Then I saw your drawing, and I think you do."

"Has a guy ever given you reason to think he doesn't like them?" I ask.

Dylan shrugs. "Maybe. Once or twice. And I hear comments."

"Well, fuck 'em," I say. "Anyone who thinks your breasts are less than perfect is ignorant. And they do seem, uhm, quite sensitive."

Dylan flashes me a grin. "Small boobs generally are," she says, "and your mouth seems to suit them."

I recall how licking her nipple made her want me even after her first climax, and my belly spikes with arousal. My cock begins to swell instantly. Lying beneath a single sheet won't hide my erection, so I draw my knees up.

Dylan's eyes catch the movement. Apparently it isn't as subtle a disguise as I thought. "I see," she says. "You like the results too." She smirks. "Time for another condom?"

I roll my eyes, but return her grin. "You weren't supposed to notice," I say.

When I take out another packet, Dylan snatches it from me. "No," she says. "I'm doing that."

She peels back the sheet, then laughs. "How am I supposed to not notice that?"

Then she opens the packet, and carefully unrolls the condom over my shaft. Her fingers sliding over it make me groan.

I expect her to climb onto me, but she doesn't. She twists around, still sitting on the side of the bed, and takes my shaft far back in her mouth, the back of her tongue grinding against the tip. Her hair cascades forward, caressing my thighs.

"Oh my God!" I croak. "Christ! Dylan..."

"Hmm?" she asks, without changing her focus or pace. My cock swells to capacity, and beyond, it seems, a dull throbbing along its length as it hardens to carven oak.

Then she draws back and begins to lick its length, drawing her tongue slowly from the base to the head, mostly on the underside, but along the sides and upper surface, too. Again, I feel her hair sliding along my thighs in an intimate touch.

When she kisses the sensitive junction on the underside of the tip of my cock my hips rise involuntarily from the bed and I groan. "Oh, Christ," I mutter. I don't think I will come from this, but the intensity of the sensation is almost torment. Incredibly good, but intolerably strong.

I breathe a sigh of relief when she returns to tonguing the side. Her fingers caress my balls. My heart is racing with arousal.

Without warning, she returns to the sensitive junction. "Uhhh!" I moan at the strength of the stimulation flooding into me. Then she parts her lips and begins to suckle the head of my member.

I start to pant. I won't be able to hold back. "Dylan!" I croak. "You're going to make me come."

"Mmhmm," she murmurs, tongue rubbing below the tip, lips engulfing me. Her hair settles on my balls and piles on my lower belly. Then she begins to nod as she works, and I just lose it. My cock draws back and flings out its seed like rocks from a trebuchet. The pleasure of each spurting release borders on pain.

I float somewhere a few inches from my body, which seems to be whimpering without my presence, then slowly I sink back into it. Dylan is determined to keep me coming for as long as possible, but I lift her from me before delight turns to irritation.

I roll off the bed and stagger to the bathroom. Dylan laughs gaily at my difficulty walking. I don't mind. She earned some merriment. After wrapping the condom up and dropping it in the trash I wait until my muscles have relaxed before striding confidently back to the bed.

She laughs again at my failure to be nonchalant. I drag her onto the bed and wrap myself around her before kissing her on the lips. "You. Are. Cold and callous," I say. "You will be a perfect Mab."


Dylan disengages from my arms, but curls up against my side. "Tell me what project you're working on with the faerie queens."

"It's just an idea right now," I say. "I would like to make a graphic novel. Or maybe a webcomic. The concept is a war between the faerie courts told from the perspective of a mortal trapped in the middle, beholden to both. I have an outline. I can scale the complexity of the art down to be manageable - you saw the comic panels in that pile of prints, right?"

Dylan nods. "Right."

"But I can't plan out the details, and when I try to write dialog it sounds like a fifth grader's essay question."

"Huh," says Dylan.

"So it's unlikely to go anywhere, but I'm going to stay with the idea, because maybe I'll figure out how to make it work."

"Huh," Dylan said, again.

"What's with the huh?" I ask.

"I told you I write?" she asks.

"You told me you want to," I said.

"Well yeah, but I do, too," she replies. "I want to write professionally, but I write fanfic. I get a lot of upvotes. I think I'm good."

"Huh." My turn.

"Right. You interested in a joint project?"

"I don't know," I say. "It would mean spending a lot of time together."

Dylan lifts her head. "That's a problem?"

"Let me rephrase that," I say. "It would mean spending a lot of time together not having sex. A lot of time together without kissing your lovely, sensitive breasts."

Dylan shivered against me, then chuckled. "True. But we did that for a couple of hours earlier. We can do it again."

"Do you need to be anywhere?" I ask. "I could order pizza and we can talk about it. I still wanted to get further on your portrait while you're here, too."

"Sure," she says. "I guess I should start trying to find where my clothes landed."


Dylan follows the trail of clothing to the wall in the living room, slipping each item on as she finds it, other than shoes and hose, which she sets by the door.

I slip on shorts rather than my jeans, then call for pizza while she's zipping up her skirt. After the food is ordered, I sit at my desk and begin to work on the sketch, while I describe the plot outline.

We each eat a couple of slices of pizza and drink a Heineken from the fridge. Dylan likes the overall concept of the graphic novel, but not most of the plot elements I have in mind. We argue, and I prefer all but one of her suggestions. She yields to me on that one, when I show her how it ties in a couple of her ideas.

Dylan is taking notes on all of these.

"What about the format?" I ask. "Graphic novel, comics, webcomic? Self-publish, try to sell it to one of the small comic publishers? There are a few independents around. More than there were a few years ago."

"Webcomic is probably the cheapest," she says, "but it doesn't have the magic of paper. Maybe we could try a kickstarter."

"I don't have the name recognition I'd need to get the backers," I say.

"Maybe not." Dylan smirks at me. "But I do. This is close enough to the interest in my fanfic community. I'm sure we could get plenty of backers if we post a few pages of art and story ideas."

"Huh," I say. There's a lot of it going around, today. "That's potentially brilliant. And we can cost everything in advance so we only commit if we have funding."

"It wouldn't work with my writing," Dylan says. "No one's going to pay for fanfic. But they'd pay for glossy art pages with the same writing quality. So it seems like an ideal blend."

I've been working on coloring Dylan's body. There are several days of work ahead of me, but I think she will be interested to see the progression. The shaded and colored areas are looking like a painting now, rather than a detailed sketch. I call her over to look at the high res monitor.

Her eyes go wide as she looks at the image. I slip my arm around her, and she nestles into my hold. She seems thrilled.

After I've saved the file, Dylan turns in my arm. She grips my tee shirt, pulling me close and kissing me on the lips.

I respond eagerly, and soon our arms are around each other, each holding the other close. When our tongues join I move my right hand around to the front of Dylan's cami top, pinching her nipple through the thin cloth.

"Mmm..." Dylan murmurs. Then she breaks the kiss. "You're going to make me want to take my clothes off again."

"Oh?" I reply, in mock innocence. "It would be bad to make you want to do something you don't want to do, wouldn't it? Perhaps you should show me what to avoid?"

I stop pinching her top, then lick my finger and thumb before sliding my fingers under the strap and offer the smooth skin of her breast. Her nipple is firm as I pinch it.

Dylan's breath catches as I roll her nipple between my thumb and finger. "Is this something I should avoid?"

I kiss her, denying her the chance to respond. Dylan's body molds itself to mine.

Releasing her lips, I draw back my fingers, then peel her shoulder strap down. "Maybe I shouldn't do this?" I ask, leaning forward to lick her nipple.

Fingers snake into my hair, holding me to her breast. "Too late," she murmurs. "I think they're coming off." She makes a sound of contentment deep in her throat, then adds, "You're making me want to spend the night."

At that I part my lips and start to suckle. Dylan moans softly, and my belly does a flip.

She interrupts my activity by lifting her top over her head. Then she removes my tee shirt, too.

"I think you should," I say, hearing the rasp in my voice. "Though I'm not sure how much use I'll be."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"Well, I've come three times today, and I think that last one broke me for a few hours. It's going to be fingers and tongue only for a while."

Dylan shivers. "I can live with that." Then she takes my hand, and mutters, "Bed."

I grunt agreement, leading her to the bedroom.


She drops her skirt beside the bed. My shorts join it on the floor, then we're under the sheet, and I'm kissing her left breast.

As always, this seems to have an oversized reaction. Dylan seems so aroused that she pants as my lips and tongue take in her firm nipple. I'm about to reach down to touch her sex, but she's so fired up that I feel it will be over too quickly, so I hold off for now. Instead I move my hand to her right breast and lightly pinch her other nipple.

Dylan begins to moan. I tighten my fingers, and her hips rock. When I draw my face away from her left breast she settles into a gentle rhythm, with an occasional soft sound when I extend my tongue to circle her nipple.

Avoiding her nipple, I move my lips over her breast, kissing tenderly. Her hands caress the back of my head. I move higher, kissing her neck and under her jaw. Her hips keep moving on the bed, as if I were caressing her sex.

When I join my lips to hers, she sighs into the kiss, her tongue meeting mine. She seems completely given over to her need.

For a few minutes I kiss her, my lips moving on hers, my hand still tweaking her nipple, twisting and tugging. Then I break the kiss and move my mouth back to her left breast.

When I take her left nipple between my lips, Dylan's back arches. I close my teeth on her nipple, and tug.

Dylan cries out, and her back lifts further. Then she shudders, and collapses back to the bed. Her breathing is in rapid, uneven sobs, and she writhes slowly.

When her movements slow, I release her breast, and whisper, "Did you just...?"

She nods, a smile on her lips. "Yeah, I'm surprised, too," she murmurs.


I collect up the blankets and make the bed. Dylan lies under the sheet, watching me. When the blankets are in place I join her, and we curl up to sleep.

At some point around midnight, we both wake. My cock seems to have recovered from its overwork, and when I get hard against her, the last of our clothes come off and another condom goes on. Our lovemaking is slow, and satisfying for both of us.

In the morning, Dylan leaves. Without distractions, I begin to shade and then color the tattoo on her left arm. This painting is going to be my best. I can see it already. And Dylan was so pleased with it that she said she would let me show the cropped version. Even with only the upper third of her breast visible, the cropped version is stunningly sensual.

Even if nothing comes of our plans for a graphic novel come to nothing, we will have created a work to be proud of. And Dylan is considering posing not only for my characterization of Queen Mab, but for fully nude works. Whether they will ever be displayed is still an open question.

When it's time to get ready for my bartending shift, the painting is much further along. The tattoo is complete, and the overall image, even incomplete, is sultry. I'm looking forward to showing Dylan.

Which will be soon. She's going to meet me before the bar closes with a toothbrush and a change of clothes. I have a feeling that at least the near future will be interesting for both of us.